


you're everything that ever was

by lemoninagin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Christmas, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post S8, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Snowball Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 13:37:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: The fact that Keith reserves this time only to see him, foregoing his busy schedule traversing the universe—Lance doesn’t understand what he could possibly offer to provide for his entertainment, other than the obvious.But well, maybe that isn’t exactly what Keith’s looking for these days.





	you're everything that ever was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuppa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppa/gifts).



> So, who else needs something sweet to make up for that mess of a season? I’m thinking, like, approximately all of us.
> 
> Also, Curtis who? I don’t know him. In this reality, Shiro got back together with Adam and married him eventually, though they both also continued working for the Garrison (Shiro in particular is a universal diplomat). As for Keith and Lance in this story—it’s implied that they were at some level FWB after Voltron disbanded, but as Keith became busier with his work they began to see each other less, though remained friends. That might not come across entirely clear, so just a note that that’s where I’m starting the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading & happy holidays to everyone <3 This is a thank you for all your support this year, with a special shout out to [cuppacats](http://cuppacats.tumblr.com/), whom this story is dedicated to :) I hope to continue writing for the fandom throughout the next year. Your comments & kudos have meant the world to me!

Lance loves the quiet of the forest at night.

The humid air clings his flannel to his skin. Splitting wood is tough work, rewarding at times in its own right, although winter is a far off cry this time of year. Not to mention that they have plenty of extra firewood in the shed on the other side of the property, near the farm.

But it helps him work off any unresolved tension, feels good to have something to busy his hands with. So he raises the maul above his head, swings in a wide arc that gravity takes hold of, and relishes in the ache of his arms after they work to sink the blade.

Mechanically, he starts over. It feels as close to freedom as he ever gets these days.

That is, until he’s jolted away from it.

His routine is disrupted by a twig snapping, appearing to come from somewhere a few feet away through a cluster of shrubbery. Pausing, Lance allows the heavy head of the maul to hit the ground, leaning against it while he catches his breath. He squints into the dark, his pulse quickening.

It doesn’t prepare him at all for the cool hands that wrap around his eyes out of nowhere. Or the lips that ghost over his ear as they murmur, “Boo.”

Lance jumps about a foot into the air. The hairs at the back of his neck raising, fight instincts returning to him like his body will never forget what it was like to be in the throes of an attack. His hands, still on the handle, lift the maul and begin to swing wildly behind him. The figure releases their grip, leaping out of the line of fire.

“Easy, easy, sharpshooter,” comes a deep, familiar voice, laughing.

The maul slides from Lance’s hands in surprise when he recognizes who it is. “You _asshole_ , I coulda chopped your dumbass in half,” he exclaims. Regardless, his eyes light up, stomach stupidly fluttery as he bounds forward to pull the man in front of him into a soul-crushing hug.

 _Fucking Keith_ , he thinks, heart sinking into instant fondness.

His hold on Keith loosens while he steps away to get a better look at him. He has to make sure he isn't dreaming.

The moonlight accentuates Keith standing there, beams encircling the crown of his head like a halo. One hand is upon his hip, the other moving to flutter his fingers at him in a cheeky wave. He’s well dressed in a simple outfit—dark jeans with clunky matching boots, red button down tailored perfectly to his slim waist, revealing a sliver of skin from the casually undone collar. A leather jacket he’s had for years lays over top it, showcasing patches from across the universe which are sewn into various parts of the worn fabric.  

Lance quickly becomes self-conscious, aware of how disheveled he must look after working for the past few hours. He lifts his shirt to wipe the sweat and grime from his brow as best he can. Not the best fix, but it’ll do for now. When Lance lets the hem fall from his hand, he can see that Keith has dropped both his arms and is blinking at him, flush evident where it’s raised upon his cheeks.

With a knock of a punch to Keith’s shoulder, Lance invites him along, leads him to the small cabin that’s about a few minutes away by foot through a clearing. He hacked the path himself a few months ago. Chest swelling proudly as his cabin comes into sight, he welcomes Keith to the other newest addition to the property—built by his own two hands mostly.

There was some help he had here and there, but he omits this information from Keith, falling into his old habit of wanting to impress.

They slip inside together and Keith nods along approvingly as Lance describes the troubles he had, recounts the hardship of learning to install plumbing. How a grave miscalculation had led to him almost flooding the damn place. Quietly, Keith toes his shoes off at the door, pads over to join Lance at the hand-carved table sitting in the center of the kitchen, marveling at it with his palm smoothing over the surface. He _is_ impressed, and he tells Lance as much.

It’s then that Lance notices the pack of beer clutched in his hand, sinking his heart a bit.

He wasn’t expecting this kind of company tonight. Or ever anymore. A shower would have at least been a nice thing to do beforehand if he’d had some warning.

A beer is nudged in front of him. Lance remains quiet, eyeing it with a thin lipped smile. He can’t seem to make himself meet those soft, gently inquiring eyes that he knows are searching his face for any remaining sign of life.

“So,” Keith starts, same as last time. They’ve all known it to be his go-to line in times where he doesn’t know how to approach a hard topic.

Great.

Lance focuses instead on Keith brushing his long hair over his shoulder, bangs still clinging to his cheeks as always despite the nervous attempt to clear his face. The calluses on his hands seem to stand in stark contrast to the deep oak of the chair as he pulls it from the table, turning it around to straddle it backwards.

After rolling his sleeves to his elbows, he rests his forearms upon it, leaning forward. The muscle there is toned from years of heavy lifting and transporting rations to impoverished areas, though Lance doubts he’s much out of practice with a blade.

“We should, uh. Catch up.”

Lance’s smile eases, smooths around the edges. Keith never was very good with words.

Acknowledging that with a chuckle, Lance swipes the beer from the table, twisting the cap off with his shirt. As always, he’ll play this game for the night. “Shoot,” he says.

“Well, for starters, this new domestic lumberjack lifestyle seems to be doing wonders for your skin.”

Mid-gulp into his beer, Lance almost snorts it right back out through his nose. Keith’s eyes drift to his lips. Then they flit insinuatingly to his chest, until the table blocks his line of sight, clearly appreciative of the view as he sends a heart-stopping glance through his lashes while he makes his way back up. The lack of subtlety isn’t lost on Lance. This time, he doesn’t tear away his gaze.

“And your, you know.” Keith waves his hand about ineloquently. “Elsewhere.”

“Wow, smooth,” Lance snorts. He pops the bottle from his mouth before something actually gross happens, tipping it to Keith in gesture of a toast. “Keith Kogane, here’s to you really knowing how to charm a guy.”

There’s a minute _clink_ as their bottles knock together. The grin on Keith’s face easily turns infectious, coiling his gut with heat in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. When he notices how Keith is staring at him over the rim of the bottle, it falls away, though.

Something about letting himself enjoy the flush of alcohol filling Keith’s face—

It doesn’t feel entirely right.

Keith does this every so often. Visits him here, alone—never calling beforehand, showing up seemingly whenever Lance feels the loneliness swallow him most. It used to be when he shared the house with his family, his siblings and parents harassing them over dinner with more and more embarrassing stories than Lance remembers ever happening when he was younger. They’d be encouraged to share a room later, as if his family was already well aware that Keith would sneak away from the guest one the second everyone settled down for the night.

Lance would always decline it with a wave of his hand. Tell them it wasn’t like that while Keith stood there looking awkward. He'd ignore the rumors that ran wild about the house of his gossipy relatives, the intense speculation on who Keith was to him these days.

Like he even knew himself.

Since he’s built his own cabin in the backwoods, his heart has gradually healed with each passing day. Although the space has been good for him, sometimes the silence grows overbearing. Suffocating.

Too much where his life once was _action, action, action_ at all times.

He knows that Keith never tells anyone else when he’s in town, excepting maybe Shiro. He’s funny like that. A whisper in the wind you can’t quite make out, and then you miss him.

The fact that he reserves this time only to see him, foregoing his busy schedule traversing the universe—Lance doesn’t understand what he could possibly offer to provide for Keith’s entertainment, other than the obvious.

But well, maybe that isn’t exactly what Keith’s looking for these days.

The incessant drone of the cicadas humming travels through the cracked window. The summer breeze rattles the curtains his grandmother hand-sewed for him as a housewarming present.

Silence falls over them, but it isn’t awkward. Lance gingerly nurses his beer. Keith does the same, turning at some point to gaze out the window, toward the trees. He’s drawn his legs into a crossed sitting position, so it’s a weird, twisting angle to go for.

Observing him openly again, Lance relaxes in his seat as he tracks Keith’s form. His hair is a few inches longer than last time, pushing mid-back length and gathered in a loose single braid. If Lance were feeling in better spirits, he’d probably crack a joke about it for old time’s sake. For now, he really wants to just reach out and touch it.

“Woulda never pegged you to like the quiet,” Keith offers conversationally. Takes a swig.

Lance grunts, sipping a little more than the last.

“Or to _be_ quiet.”   

Fuck it. If Keith’s gonna make this personal like everyone else always does, then he might as well get prepared for it. He chugs the remainder of his drink. Wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand, he takes a deep breath, and then plucks another from the pack. Opens it while grimacing at the fight his fingers put up trying to figure it out. It’s been a long time since he’s had any alcohol, and it definitely shows.

“Hey, I, uh—” Keith sets his empty bottle down. Doesn’t go for another. “If I came here under the pretense of false camaraderie, would you hate me?”

Lance tries on his best disarming smile. He’s been getting really good at acting lately. “You know I could never hate you, Keith. What’s on your mind, buddy?”

Keith is leaning close towards him again, cupping his chin in his hands, elbows propped on the chair. The flush has turned deeper, higher on his cheeks. His head is tipped to the side. There’s something about—something about the childish way he’s curled in that chair that makes Lance’s mind flash to a long buried memory.

A memory of Keith, at the Garrison. Just pushing past the cusp of puberty and curled sullenly into a chair outside Iverson’s office, glaring at him with a split lip and black eye as Lance walked by him in the hall, wondering what the hell happened. He’d spent the better half of the day hung up on why Keith was staring him down as if _he_ was the one who put those marks on him.

But they didn’t talk back then, unless it was to argue.

Lance’s brain works hard to reform that past image into the current one in front of him. Their history goes intimately far back, and there’s nothing he wants to think of less right now.

“I mean, I _did_ come to see you because I had some free time and wanted to,” Keith says. Struggles even after all this time to find the right words. “But…”

“But..?”

That’s met with a more familiar huff. “You probably already know why, but...I also just wanted to make sure that you were okay myself. You haven’t been answering my calls recently, or anyone’s, as I’ve heard. Veronica personally contacted me, you know. She’s worried. And Hunk said that—”

Lance raises a hand to stop him. “I’m fine,” he grits. He really doesn’t want to hear anything else, so he starts chugging the rest of the new bottle, too.

The burn barely gets the chance to sweeten his throat. Without a word, Keith reaches over and swipes it from his hand, nearly upending his chair in the process. Those soft eyes turn deadly serious.

“No, we’re not doing this again. You’re gonna listen to me,” he growls, fingers clasping tight on the neck. “You’re starting to scare people, isolating yourself here like some romantic hermit out of a Nicholas Sparks’ novel. But it’s really not as charming as you think it is.”

Lance leers at him. Laces his arms behind his head while tipping his chair back, uncaring about whatever the fuck Keith chooses to do with his drink. In any case, he’s had enough to build the courage for what he wants here.

“Funny. I thought I looked pretty cute in flannel. Don’t you think?”

With a roll of his eyes, Keith jerks his chair around, scraping it across the floor with the force he exerts. Staring him down in warning, he slinks into his seat. Lance feels his cheeks burn the second Keith lifts the stolen bottle to his own lips, downing the rest in one shot.

They sit in silence once more. Allow the alcohol to sink their rawer emotions.

“I didn’t move here to like, go off myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lance mutters to clear the air when he feels ready to. He lays his hand over Keith’s, guiding it along with the bottle to the table. Keith isn’t wearing his gloves like he usually is. His skin feels way softer than Lance expects it.

Frowning, Keith releases the bottle. Chews on the inside of his cheek as he slips their fingers together, rubbing his thumb across his palm. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to not die.” Lance nods. “Really, it’s not that serious. I just...came here to get some privacy. I’m 27 years old now, if you know what I mean. A single guy needs his own space away from his family so he can finally get back on the market, yeah?”

Realization slowly crawls over Keith’s face. “Oh.” His brows draw together, unable to take his implication completely in. “Well, that’s—that’s good, then. That’s good that you feel ready after—”

There’s a touch of something unspoken there. Melancholic. Clearing his throat, Keith traces the tip of one finger over the wet rim of the drained bottle, letting that fleeting emotion fall away. “It’s just good. You deserve to be happy,” he finally decides to sigh, smiling with a bite of his lip.

His fumbling makes Lance toss his head, laughing raucously. “It’d be better if it was working the way I intended it to.”

“Hey, sounds to me like you’re not trying hard enough. You can’t just expect some sexy farmer girls to come wandering into your lap when you’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

Lance lifts one brow, lowering his tone. “Or guys.”

There’s a flash of something dark behind Keith’s eyes. “...Or guys,” he agrees. Pauses poignantly, drawing his finger down the side of the bottle, flashing that _fuck me_ glance again. “Except you. I suppose touching yourself out here has lost its luster by now though, huh.”

Lance doesn’t know how exactly he manages to get to his feet. The specifics get lost in the heat that tugs him over to Keith, who’s slumping in the chair like a normal person again, back turning a little straighter as Lance closes the space between them. He stops until their knees are knocking together, looming over for a baited breath or two with his arms on either side of Keith, casing him in before he drops himself in his waiting, spread lap.

In all honesty, he has no clue what he’s doing. Usually Keith initiates things, is the bolder one for as long as they’ve been doing—whatever this is. They haven’t even seen each other, done something like this in ages.

But it just feels right.

When Lance leans in for a kiss, Keith laughs at the tickle of stubble that catches across his cheek. It’s been awhile since Lance has shaved, and he’s getting properly scruffy. Maybe that does make him look more crazed than usual whenever he traipses into town, so he supposes he really can’t blame that people have been talking about him.

“I missed this,” Keith whispers, trailing off into a shuddering breath as Lance imprints his teeth along the line of his neck.

This is exactly what was missing in his new place. Keith tastes like coming home.

Lance’s fingers seek out the hem of his shirt, untucking it to slide them underneath, smooth over the warm skin of his belly. His tongue drags across the hollow of his throat, preparing to bite at the reflexive swallow there.

“I missed _you_ , Lance.”

That stops him. Lance returns to meet his lips, hanging in front of them, mouth drier than ever. To cover the way that threw him off track, he links his arms around Keith’s neck and offers with a smirk, “One last time for the road, then?”

Keith answers by grabbing him roughly by the hips, and grinding _up, up, up_.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t one last time for the road.

Because simply put, Lance really was never planning to get back on it. He has everything he already needs right here—friends, family, and Keith, when he’s able to be there. He doesn’t even know why he told Keith that in the first place.

For fear of what comes next, maybe? To make a statement that he knows will snake insidiously beneath Keith’s skin, infecting him with the jealousy he so desires?

But Keith isn’t much of the jealous type, not anymore. Time and maturation have leveled his head, evened his temper, smoothing over the rough edges of his more tumultuous emotions. Not to say that he doesn’t occasionally still show them, but it’s considerably more muted.

So who knows what Lance is playing at anymore. For all he lacks in social intuition, Keith is surprisingly perceptive about it—he can see right through all his lies, anyway. He always has. Apparently, he doesn’t take it personally.

Why he chooses to accept them—then for some crazier reason, _play along_ —is another thing entirely. The best thing about Keith is that he never treats him any differently, or acts like he’s afraid of breaking him, like many of the rest do. Keith has grown to expect that he can handle himself if need be and Lance more than just appreciates that.

They make it to his bed tonight.

Lance isn’t sure how long it’s been. Keith ages differently from him these days, like he did on the space whale. Definitely not as drastically as that, at least Lance doesn’t think he looks too much older as he’s pressing his hips into the mattress. An extra scar here. An added sharpness to his jaw or the beginnings of a worry line there. Facial hair filling in where he could never get it to grow before. No big deal. Time has never been all that linear for them.

Keith’s sure acting like it’s been years, though.

He’s breathing hard as Lance slides his mouth down his cock, having been very vocal throughout what’s mostly for the purpose of warming him up. Keith isn’t always easy to get there right away, and that’s fine. They’re older now and his life is still eons more stressful than Lance’s has been in recent years.

This time—he’s practically ripping him off his length by his hair. And fuck if that doesn’t make Lance let loose a needy little whine of his own, especially as Keith flips their positions without any warning.

“Stay,” he says, and Lance lays there, helpless. Waiting.

Keith repeats the order as he works himself open with two fingers, forcing Lance to watch without allowing him to touch. As if Lance could ever look away from such a sight in the first place, greatly enjoying the show as he strokes his own cock in time with Keith's ministrations.

He breathes in a shaky, pleased sigh when Keith lowers his hips, sinking onto him. Moans softly as Keith tosses his head with a grin, bouncing in his lap.

It’s over faster than Lance can register. Maybe ten minutes, at most. Keith is coiled tight around him, clenching with a steady rhythm, working himself on his cock with all the moves he knows hit Lance right in the gut. His voice is rising higher in volume than Lance thinks he’s ever heard it before as he climbs to ecstasy.

“Keith.” Lance thrusts with all his remaining strength, shuddering through his release. “Keith, Keith. Fuck.”

With a long whine, Keith bows over him, biting his lip. He drags himself up by his knees. Rocks back down. Almost there, but not quite.

“So good, so fucking good, god Lance.”

Lance reaches out. Closes his hand around his cock, stroking roughly up the length. “Come on, Keith, come on. Wanna see you come.”

Keith’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering. Smirking, Lance squeezes him, other hand snaking around to firmly smack his ass.

“Come for me, baby,” he commands with a low tone, and that’s it. Keith loses it. Falls apart so beautifully above him with a sharp noise, cum spilling, gushing over his fingers. Lance watches it all. His face, his expressions, that final jerk of his hips. He definitely dies inside, just a little bit.

Keith remains there, fighting to catch his breath, while he’s still inside him. He's running one hand over Lance’s chest in the soft afterglow, other fingers stroking along his side. Tender when he leans to kiss him.

The sunset casts the room, Keith’s skin, all in a faint red glow. Lance draws out of him, only to pull him in tight to his chest, arms wrapping snug around his waist. Cuddling isn’t something he lets himself get caught in, most of the time.

That rule falls away completely when he glances over to see Keith smiling. He strokes Keith’s hair, tells him he doesn’t have to leave, not tonight. Then he kisses that smile, causing it to widen.

They fold into each other as Lance whispers, “Stay,” into his ear.

 

* * *

 

His cabin seems brighter with Keith’s clothes scattered around it.

Brighter still with Kosmo curled by the fireplace, there to cuddle them when they get a chance away from his visiting family to sit on the spread rug, watch old movies all together. Keith has been visiting a lot more lately, leaving his stuff lying everywhere. Lance has affectionately begun to refer to them as “Mullet Droppings”.

Often, they’ll play the newest, weirdest video games from around the universe, catch up, or explore each other’s bodies until late into the night. They’ll move to the porch later on, gaze at the stars and watch their breath hang, mix in the air as they curl into a chair together. Keith will brandish a cigarette, light it, pretend not to notice when Lance steals a drag or two.

It’s a simple sort of life, like Lance has always desired. Peaceful in the wake of the marks war had left on his soul. Over these past few months with Keith around, he’s felt his presence to be the most healing. So he keeps his options open, far more open than he’s done since Voltron’s disbanded.

Whenever he gets that itch to go back to the stars, sometimes he’ll leave on side relief missions, help Keith out with things alongside the Blade. Or he’ll fill in for Hunk at his shop when they need some extra hands. He's started joining Coran on diplomacy meetings again, continued to teach classes with Pidge to the children on other planets about things like technology or Voltron’s legacy, and everything in between. He’ll even stop by to babysit for Shiro and Adam while they’re busy with work, since they’ve recently adopted a young Galra hybrid child who was abandoned but rescued by Axca on one of their excursions.

Little by little, Lance’s heart fills, defrosts from the cold he’s allowed to take over. Time moves on. Life moves on. In the space between, his love for Keith only grows and grows.

It’s terrifying.

Christmas is just around the corner. Lance chopped down a large blue pine, which sits in the center of his living room, presents lying underneath its stretching branches. He scolds Kosmo as the wolf appears while he's in the middle of making dinner and noses into one of the packages, sniffing the wrapping.

“Hey, boy,” Lance says, coming over. Petting his head as he looks around. “Where’s Keith?”

Kosmo whines. He scrapes the floor with his paw, indicating that Lance should take hold of his fur. Shrugging, Lance curls his fingers into his thick mane.

The world begins to shift and split, turning his stomach. Teleportation isn’t something he thinks he’ll ever get used to as he tries to stay standing on wobbly legs when the swirl of racing color clears.

Lance holds his head in his hands. Groans. When he gets his bearings about him, he blinks in confusion. They’re in front of a frozen lake, snow in deep drifts everywhere. It’s not Earth, because there’s two suns setting over a deeply beautiful, purple sky. Could be a planet called Myon, maybe, he thinks. He always did love the sunsets there.

Something whizzes past his head. Lance whips around. Kosmo barks, and there’s another blurry thing zooming by, off to his other side, and—

“Ack!”

Lance reels at the impact on the back of his head. He feels cold, wet mush drip down into his shirt. Turning, he scowls, ducking with speed to ball some of the snow into his own fist.

“Just because you can be all stealthy and sneaky, plus have the perfect costume for it, doesn’t mean you should be!” he calls out into the wind, towards the crouched figure of Keith hiding behind a boulder.

Coward.

He has his old Blade uniform on, mask formed over his face. Lance imagines he’s probably smirking behind it. All cocky like he thinks he can win this. He flips him the finger which Lance gasps at, because oh, _it’s so on_.

Much to Lance’s disgruntlement, Keith does pull ahead for a little bit, despite the fact they’re practically evenly matched these days. They flit behind cover, sling icy arsenal at each other, and it’s all so fun, so exhilarating, that not once does Lance associate it with the smoky scent of burning flesh or the sound of splintering shrapnel.

Tired of Keith's cheap-shots and evasive maneuvers, Lance goes in for the finishing move. Tackles Keith after he pelts him in the gut with a packed snowball, pinning his wrists to his sides, grinning victoriously above him on his lap. Keith squirms as he’s trapped between his thighs, protesting, his mask puffing out of existence to reveal his very flushed face. Very narrowed eyes. Cheeks rosy, out of breath as he fights to take in the sharp, crisp air.

Unable to keep the serious atmosphere any longer, they both break into full belly laughter.

Whatever their score was becomes forgotten. Lance pauses, brushes a piece of sweaty hair from Keith’s forehead. His fingers linger on the cool skin of his cheek.

“You lose, sweetheart,” he whispers into his ear.

And he captures his lips like a promise.

 

* * *

 

Christmas Eve is a night meant for passion.

Color him traditional, but Lance doesn’t ever cut corners when it comes to that time of year. The night before the 25th was always more important in his family while he was growing up in Cuba, and living in this newly connected Earth hasn’t changed that. It’s interesting, how the aliens from other planets who’ve decided to settle here have added to the holiday traditions with their own unique culture. By all accounts, it’s become a big evening of festivities for everyone.

After a long, tiring day hanging with friends and family, eating, celebrating, exchanging presents—both him and Keith hassled by one person after the next, because inquiring nosy minds want to know if they’ll be smooching under the mistletoe later—they’re free to do whatever they want.  

Back at his cabin, what Lance put together for them—it’s perfect, if he does say so himself. Low lights strung up everywhere. Fancy champagne. Snow fluttering in fluffy flakes outside the windows, emanating heat from the crackling fireplace basking upon their exposed skin.

So of course, just as Keith is running his fingers through his hair, mouth working over one nipple and tracing the growing bulge at the front of his boxers, set on exploring what’s beneath—

Things have to go awry.

Keith is murmuring soft things into his neck as he kisses over it, when something in Lance breaks. The whispering words. The hot breath playing along his jaw. The pinch of scraping nails right where he likes it.

It’s all really good. His vision blurs, he keens into the touches. Wanting more, never wanting it to end.

But then, Keith is stopping. He's staring worriedly at him, fingers attempting to clear the blur from his eyes. “Lance, you’re…” he says. His hand comes away shining with wetness. “Hey, hey. Come here. It’s okay.”

Keith gathers him in his arms. Lance feels the loss hit him, gradually. Like the belated sting of a punch.

“I just—” He chokes on his words for a moment, then regathers. “It’s not your fault, but I don’t know, something you did just reminded me of...” He buries his face into Keith’s heaving chest. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long and I know it’s stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Keith says gently, petting his hair. He’s used to it at some level. This has happened before. “Don’t say that, it’s not stupid. This is a normal process of grief. Everything's going to be alright. We can just lay here until you go to sleep, like last time.”

But it isn’t normal, Lance wants to scream in his face. It isn’t, it isn’t.

It's much more complicated than he could ever hope to explain.

Because when Keith takes care of him like this—with careful words as his lips smooth over his forehead, with his fingers carding through his hair, rubbing at the small of his back when the hiccuping sobs leave him—Lance can’t deny anymore that Keith isn’t cut from the same cloth.

He isn’t like her, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.

There’s no comparing the two of them. They couldn’t be more different people, of course, but major personality differences aside—that isn’t what this is all about.

Keith isn’t like her, because his feelings aren’t the same. His feelings for Lance run deeper, surge stronger, show more passionately, and that, it—

It scares the absolute shit out of him.

What Keith’s referring to is old news now. Lance has already accepted, come to terms with it since his time out here alone began. That was the real purpose of his move. The heavy silence in the woods without the distraction of the constant noise of family or other worldly entertainment had forced his head to finally deal with it.

He’s accepted that Allura used to be his everything. She was a remarkably brave, talented person he’ll forever admire. His first real love whom he’s had time to mourn and move on from, though sometimes he still misses her more than words could ever express.

The real issue is that following that revelation, there came another:

That your first love, isn’t always your _most_ love.

That there’s different levels of expressing that love. Sometimes, one person’s love is greater than the other’s is for them. Sometimes, that greater love can fade into something that’s just—not so great anymore. Feelings change. People change. Lance has learned since that relationships are stupidly complicated and nuanced and all these things his naive, love struck brain had diluted from him when he was younger and more inexperienced.

Keith remains a glaring reminder of this.

No. Lance is now scared that the second he reveals his love to be as strong for Keith as it was for Allura—more than likely even stronger—that he’ll lose _this_. That Keith will laugh, tell him it’s not really like that. That he’ll dial back this passion, hide it away and disappear like he used to.

Or worse, that he’ll be _more_ like her, and just—

Just settle for what he has.

And that…

Lance blinks though the tears, clinging to Keith's waist in a desperate hug. He muffles his anguish into the falsely comforting salt of his skin.

His heart can’t survive that again.

 

* * *

 

“We should talk about last night.”

The tension has built to a level Keith’s deciding to put his foot down about, it seems. He corners Lance in the kitchen when he wakes up, glare loud, and impossibly Keith. It sends shivers of want running up Lance’s spine. Angry morning sex sounds like a fun time. They don’t do that much anymore.

“Why?” Lance says, turning to the counter, taciturn. He urges the coffee to brew faster. “We don’t usually.”

He’s in one of Keith’s long sleep-shirts and nothing else, legs prickling with goosebumps at the shifting of air on them as Keith steps into the space next to him. Fingertips trail along his thigh, flicking the shirt as they draw a possessive path across the curve of his bare backside. They trace a circle there, then fall away. Lance mourns the loss of their heat as Keith grabs a mug from the cupboard, side-eyeing him.

“Well, isn’t that the problem? Maybe we should be. Maybe it will help—you know. Help you to get it off your chest if you voice exactly what’s going on.”

Lance purses his lips. “My, my. I never thought I’d see the day you’d say talking something out would be the best option…”

The coffee machine is dripping at an ingratiatingly slow pace. If he doesn’t do something soon, Keith is probably going to use the moment to coax him into speaking. It’s sort of a dumb idea, but Lance scrambles to turn around, levers one hand onto the counter behind him to lift himself onto it.

The long shirt scrunches high on his thighs as he opens and spreads his legs, scooting to get in front of Keith, locking him in place between them. Keith looks annoyed, but stares hungrily at the revealed skin, swiping out his tongue to wet his lips.

He fists his hand into Keith’s tank top. Drags him closer, mouth zoning in to claim that smile.

“Stop trying to derail this,” Keith laughs against his lips, pushing him playfully away by the chin.

Settling with nipping at his neck, Lance shrugs. “But it’s Christmas.”

He’s about to readjust his uncomfortable position—the stupid cabinets are digging into his back—when Keith tugs him forward by the backs of his thighs, with that force he knows he loves. Intent with his dark stare that his advances are more than welcome.

Lance thinks he’s won. Thinks that’ll be the end of that as he leans in to reclaim his lips, hand making to shove itself down Keith’s sweats. But Keith grabs him by the wrist before he can make good on that. He shakes his head with a sigh, then knocks their foreheads together. Frowning, Lance realizes he's been had too late, and starts to pull away.

So Keith goes in for his weaker spot.

Lips connect with his, slow and firm. They struggle to maintain something sweeter, no tongue or teeth involved. There’s a light pressure as a hand cups his cheek, stroking it in feathered motions. Humming low in his throat, Lance is a completely lost, over-the-moon fool for the feeling within seconds.

His gut flip-flops itself inside out, every inch of his skin turning unbearably hot. Trying to keep things innocent is hard, so Lance deepens the kiss, but Keith reigns the pace in again. Keeps it frustratingly tender, which he’s been getting unfairly good at lately.

As Keith slides off way too soon, his hands tether themselves on his shoulders, rubbing into his tense muscles. Holding him in place.

“Please talk to me,” Keith pleads with him. “I miss hearing you tell me how you feel. I need you to do this, not just for yourself, but for both of us. You know I’m not good at this. Hell, I’m barely around as it is, and it’s really hard seeing you...upset like that still. Knowing that this is how you act during the few times we are together…”

He trails off for a moment. Guiltily, Lance feels his gut churn for making Keith worry, looks away as Keith regroups his point.

“I can see why the others who are with you every day are worried. I can’t always be there to know what’s going on, even though I really want to be. Please don’t make me force you to like, take one of Coran’s sketchy truth serums or have our other friends tie you down to pull it out of you, or some stupid shit like that.”

“You’re using kisses like they’re tactical moves. That’s not fair,” Lance retaliates. He drops his head to hide his face in Keith’s shirt. A hand slides through his hair like it belongs there, which just makes everything even worse.

He can feel the amused vibrations of Keith’s voice against his ear as he scoffs, “Neither is keeping secrets from your boyfriend.”

Lance lifts his head. Blinks, disbelieving. He must be hearing things.

“Your…Your boyfriend?”

Keith raises a brow, cocks his head. “Yeah, uh...like when two people love each other? Sometimes exclusively?”

“You’re my boyfriend,” Lance tries on his tongue. Feels his heart soar, confusion morphing into relief. “I’m _your_ boyfriend.”

“That...is what I just said, yes.”

Lance pinwheels his arms in such excitement that Keith has to take a step back. “And you love me! And I love you! Ha! Suck on that, universe!”

Keith matches his smile, although his brows draw together, now the one confused. “Of course I love you, weirdo…” He lifts the back of his hand to his forehead, checking for a temperature. “I’m sorry, are you feeling okay? Now I’m really getting concerned.”

Before he can explain anything, Lance leaps into Keith’s arms. Squeezes him tight, even as they go crashing to the ground together.

“Lance, what the fuck—”

“I thought that—oh, man, I didn’t know we were—that you considered us—”

Lance reveals everything right there with Keith trapped beneath him. It bursts from his heart, his chest, his very being. His love for Keith, his worries, his misunderstanding of where they stood. Keith listens to it, laughing at the miscommunication, eyes even going glassy as Lance gets mushier the more he explains.

When he’s done, Lance sits back, beaming. He claps his hands on Keith’s embarrassed cheeks. Stares into his eyes, laughing, as it all becomes so damn clear that he doesn’t know how he couldn’t have realized it sooner.

“Oh my god, you love me. You really do.”

“I do,” Keith murmurs. He takes hold of his chin, drawing Lance to his mouth. Presses their smiles together.

“I really, really do.”  


End file.
